


The Helping Hand

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Edging, Explicit Sexual Content, John's Army Memories, M/M, Masturbation, Sherlock Asks Advice, Tipsy John, sexy talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 18:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2398997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has trouble sleeping and finds an interesting solution. When John gets involved and they both get in over their heads, will they be able to come back from it or will everything be changed forever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock Stumbles Into A New Habit

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Yes, he'd solved all of them, but the last few weeks of trying to work on three separate cases at once had taken its toll on Sherlock. His brain was overloaded -- too crowded for him even to squeeze his way into his mind palace for some relief. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He'd been doing it for four hours.

He slid out of bed and walked through the dark flat to John's bedroom door. There was no light showing through the bottom and when Sherlock leaned in, he heard nothing except the silence of John's sleep. He got a glass of water and returned to his own room.

How did John manage to do that -- turn off his brain and let sleep overtake him? Well . . . he knew (even though John probably didn't know he did) that John often watched porn once he'd gone upstairs. Undoubtedly, that meant masturbation. Sherlock was so desperate at this point, he'd try anything -- even something he'd given up long ago, dismissing it as a useless pastime.

Sherlock slipped his hand into his pajama bottoms and wrapped his fingers around his soft cock. He stroked himself lightly, but nothing seemed to happen. He knew that this would take more than physical stimulation, but he wasn't a fan of pornography. Instead, he closed his eyes and relied on memories.

But they weren't memories of sex. They were memories of this morning when he and John were discussing the last case, arguing. Well, not arguing -- Sherlock was shouting at John because the final piece was not yet in place. John had let him shout: they both knew it was unfair, but it usually worked and it had again this morning. That moment -- that moment when it all made sense -- Sherlock loved that moment. His cock was now getting hard under the movement of his hand. Sherlock loved that moment of realisation and loved when John was there to witness it.

Sherlock thought about John, about their adventures and all the times John had helped him. He thought of the way John's hair looked in the morning, the way John licked his lips when he didn't know what to say. He thought about John's laughter and how John made Sherlock laugh as well, something he had so rarely done before they'd met. His hand gripped himself tighter as it moved faster. His body tensed and then his orgasm hit. He squeezed shut his eyes, and his wet hand fell to his hip. And then he was asleep.

When he woke up the next morning, he was pleasantly surprised that he'd slept through the whole night. He could hear John moving about the flat. He glanced at the clock and realised it was almost three in the afternoon. He stretched then remembered what he'd done last night. He needed a shower. He stood up, grabbed some clean clothes and slipped into the bathroom, calling "Put the kettle on, please," as he did.

"Already on," John called out as he heard the door shut. It wasn't usual for Sherlock shower if he wasn't going somewhere and as far as he knew there was no new case. Then again, he'd just solved three all at once so he supposed that maybe he was feeling a little off. Feeling bad for him, John made up his tea and set it by his chair for him so when he came out of the shower he could relax. He sat in his own chair and started writing up the first case.

Once he was dressed and refreshed, Sherlock came out into the kitchen. "Thanks," Sherlock said. "I didn't mean to stay in bed so long, but I had trouble getting to sleep and I guess once I could, my body decided to make the most of it." He took a sip of tea. "You sleep okay?"

"Yeah, I did. I had been touching up and organising my notes for the cases, and it put me right out," he smiled. "Hopefully you have an easier time tonight so your schedule isn't messed up."

"Hopefully," Sherlock said, moving to his chair. He looked over at John, typing away on his laptop. "Do you need anything from me?"

"Maybe you could look over the notes and make sure everything is good? I don't need anything else for the introduction."

"All right," Sherlock said, reaching over and grabbing them. He jotted down a few additions, but as usual, John had pretty much everything perfectly right. He passed them back and then stood up to move to his desk, where he opened his laptop and looked over his email.

John started the first case, minding the time as he worked. "I'm going out tonight so I won't be here for dinner."

"All right," Sherlock said. "Where did you meet this one?" he asked.

"I'm just getting a pint with Mike," John said. "But we're going to a busy little pub so we'll see what happens."

"Well, best of luck to you," Sherlock said. "I think I'll clean up a bit tonight -- organise all that," he motioned towards his workspace, "and tidy things from the cases away. There's nothing new from Lestrade yet, but then I'll be ready when something does come in."

"Okay. I thought for a second you already had something. Typing these up will have me busy for awhile now." 

"I'm going to go out and get the papers, I think," Sherlock said, standing up. "Need anything? I guess I should get myself something for dinner as well."

"I don't need anything, thanks," John smiled. He went back to his computer, typing away again. He hoped to at least finish one before he showered and went out.

Sherlock grabbed his coat and left. He stopped at Mrs Hudson's to see if she needed anything and then he left. When he returned, he dropped off her items and then went upstairs. He could hear that John was in the shower so he started putting the stuff away and then made himself another cup of tea.

When John got out of the shower he headed straight to his room, changing for his night out. When he came back down he popped his head into the kitchen. "Do you want to come with us?" He knew the answer already but he didn't like leaving Sherlock alone at home. 

"No thanks," Sherlock said. "Not my scene." He smiled a bit. Sherlock couldn't relate to John's need for social interaction and certainly not to his desire to find a date. But he knew John liked going out, and after all the help he'd been recently, Sherlock didn't want to spoil his plans. He sat down at the table with his cup of tea and the papers. "I won't wait up," he added.

John rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. "All right then. See you later." He grabbed his coat and headed out, walking to the pub where he was supposed to be meeting Mike. John had invited Lestrade as well but he was working and wouldn't be coming out until later. They talked about the hospital and the students Mike was seeing through the lab. John told him about the cases they had just solved, thanking him again for introducing him to Sherlock.

"It's the perfect amount of excitement after everything I've been through. I love it," John said before getting them another round just as Lestrade joined them, telling them about his own day. While they chatted John looked around at the girls, wishing he could read them like Sherlock could. He wanted to release some adrenaline but didn't know who would be up for a one night only affair.

Sherlock cleaned up his work area, binning quite a bit and doing his best to organise the rest. Once he'd finished that project, he was bored. He flopped down on the sofa and closed his eyes for a few moments. He wondered what John was up to, whether or not he was having fun or if he had met a woman. He thought about John this afternoon -- working so carefully on the blog, his eyes occasionally squinting at the screen. He was looking forward to reading the final blog posts, which he felt a little embarrassed by, but the truth is John had a way with words and his descriptions managed to be accurate while still capturing the excitement. Sherlock sometimes read over them, and his breath caught in his throat, remembering it and knowing that John found it as thrilling as he did.

Sherlock opened his eyes quickly, realising that he had an erection again. He didn't understand why. He rolled over to face the back of the sofa, feeling a bit stupid that it had happened. He tried to distract himself, but then thought about it for a moment: he was on his own with nothing to do. He picked up his phone.

_Text me on your way home, please. SH_

_Will do. -JW_

Sherlock got up and turned off the lights. He lay back down on the sofa and let his hand rest over his erection. He thought again about John sitting with his laptop. He undid his trousers and slid his hand around himself and he started stroking. In his mind, he remembered John coming down dressed to go out and then leaving the flat. Then he started to imagine John out at the pub, laughing and talking with Mike. He kept jerking himself, thinking of John, and then his orgasm hit. He lay there panting for a moment. He opened his eyes and realised his entire body felt relaxed. He felt good. He sat up and moved to the bathroom to clean himself up. He changed into his pajamas and picked up his phone.

_Actually I think I'm going to go to bed. See you in the morning. SH_

John managed to get a few dances in but couldn't find himself really attracted to anyone. He walked back home to clear his head a bit, humming to himself as he walked.

Sherlock went into his room and got into bed, but he wasn't sleepy like last night. He felt too good to sleep. He reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a book, reading quickly and taking notes in the margin.

John didn't see Sherlock's last message until he pulled his phone out to see the keyhole.  He tiptoed through the flat as he hung his jacket and drank a big glass of water. He headed up to his room and considered starting the next case but then changed his mind. He stripped down to his pants and climbed into bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

Sherlock read until quite late. He heard John come home but then heard him head straight up to his room, so he didn't get up. Eventually Sherlock turned off his light and closed his eyes. When he opened them again it was morning. He had slept through the night again. But he also had an erection again. This was a little worrying.

It was one thing to do it to help him sleep, but why was he thinking about doing it right now when he had just woken up? Maybe he had a dream, but he couldn't remember. He tried to distract himself -- tried thinking of the most gruesome crime scene he could think of -- but John had been there too and now he was thinking of John again. He got up and slipped into the bathroom, turning on just the cold water and standing under a freezing shower until his erection went away. Then he rushed out, wrapped a towel around himself and went back in his room to get dressed.


	2. John's Medical Opinion

John slept well into the day, getting up late and walking down with his computer again. He didn't see Sherlock so he started the kettle and started making himself some toast. He had a small headache but he would be relaxing at home again so he wasn't too worried about it.

Sherlock came out of his room. "Morning," he said to John. "Have a good time last night?" He sat down to wait for his tea.

"Yeah, it was fun," he smiled. He brought over Sherlock's mug and sat down in his chair again. "The desk looks good," he commented. 

Sherlock glanced up. "Yes, definitely more organised. Now I just need something new to work on. I'll check to see if we've got any possible clients," he got up and moved to his laptop.

"Okay. I know Lestrade didn't have anything when we talked last night."

Sherlock turned to look at John. "Lestrade was with you last night?" he asked.

"Yeah, he joined Mike and me when he got off work," John said.

"Oh, I didn't know," Sherlock said. He wasn't quite sure what he felt about that, so he decided to put it out of his mind. He closed up his laptop and went to his bedroom to get his book from last night. He came back out and laid down on the sofa. "Do you mind if I read out here while you work?"

John shook his head. "Of course not. I don't mind when you're doing noisy experiments -- why would reading bother me?" He smiled to show he was teasing, going back to writing up the second case. 

"Don't take it out on me if you've got a hangover," Sherlock teased back. He settled onto the sofa and opened his book.

They worked like this for hours, with one of them occasionally getting up to make tea. Eventually, Sherlock set his book down and said, "What are we doing for dinner? I just remembered I didn't eat last night so I should definitely eat tonight."

"Let's order in. I'm comfortable and don't fancy leaving the flat. Do you mind calling it in?" John asked, holding his computer as he stretched his body.

"Chinese?" Sherlock assumed as he sat up and reached for his phone. He rang and placed their usual order. "I'll go pick it up in a few minutes," he said after hanging up. "Should we watch some telly while we eat?" he asked, turning on the TV and flipping through the channels.

John looked at his computer and gauged his progress before nodded. "Yeah, I'll finish the rest of this later," he said. He stood up and moved to the sofa so he could see better. "You can take money from my wallet -- you don't mind going?" he asked. 

"No, I don't care. I'll pick up the papers as well," Sherlock said, standing up. "You choose something for us to watch." He moved over to get his coat. He headed down to the news agents and by the time he got to the Chinese, he only had to wait a few minutes. He returned to the flat. John had brought some plates and silverware to the coffee table, so he sat down on the sofa and took out the food. "So what are we watching?" he asked.

"I found a _Doctor Who_ marathon -- is that okay?" John asked, serving himself some noodles. He took a bite out of the egg roll and hummed happily. 

"That's fine," Sherlock said. He put some food on his plate and sat back on the sofa to watch.

"Have you seen this before?" John asked, pulling his knees up as he settled against the back of the sofa.  

"Not this episode, I don't think," Sherlock said. "I used to love this show when I was little. Did you?"

"Yeah, I always have," John smiled. He didn't expect Sherlock to like something like this, and he was pleasantly surprised.

Sherlock imagined John as a little boy getting scared by the show. He looked over at him and smiled. He tried to eat a few more bites of food and then set his plate on the table. He got up to put the kettle on and then returned with two cups of tea.

"My parents bought me a sonic screwdriver for my birthday once and I was always trying to sonic Harry. She snapped it in half," John said after a few sips, smiling at the memory. 

Sherlock turned off the lamps and then sat down again. "If you get scared, just let me know," he said smiling. He pulled his knees up against him.

"I'm not scared!" John chuckled, looking over at him. "You look scared."

"I am," Sherlock said. "But I trust myself to be able to appropriately handle my fear." He pulled a face at John. They sat quietly for a while and when the episode ended, Sherlock said, "John, can I ask you something kind of . . . personal?"

John looked over at him and took a moment to try and guess before nodding. "Sure, what's up?"

"Can I get your thoughts on masturbation?"

John blinked at him for a moment, trying to decide if he'd heard right. He must have. "In what terms, exactly?"

"Do you think it has any negative repercussions?"

"Not really. I mean, there are cases of people becoming addicted but it's not very common. In general it's a good thing. It can help relieve stress, clear your mind, help you sleep . . .why are you wondering?" 

Sherlock ignored the question. "Any kind of limit, do you think, to how frequently it should be done?"

 John shook his head. "Whatever feels good for you, I suppose. Although I'd worry you started getting into the high teens every day," he said.

"What makes you think I'm doing it?" Sherlock asked. 

"Because you're asking me things as if you're worried about doing it. It's perfectly normal," John said.

"I'm not worried," Sherlock said. "I'm just curious." He sat for a few minutes. "I mean, conceivably, though, there are aspects that could be abnormal -- say, depending on precisely what the person is doing or thinking about, right? Like if a person were doing it on the tube -- that'd be abnormal."

"Yes, but that's a whole mental issue that doesn't have to do with wanking at all. Just like if you have to think about kids or something. It's mental."

"Fine, well, it's you," Sherlock said quickly, turning his attention back to the television.

"I-" Whatever John had been about to say died on his lips. "Me?" he asked instead, his eyes still fixed on Sherlock.

"Well, things we've done. Like cases and stuff like that," Sherlock admitted, not turning his head to look at John.

John felt an odd sense of pride and sentiment towards Sherlock. He bit his lip to stop the grin and he turned towards the telly. "Well . . .that makes sense, I suppose. We spend a lot of time together."  
  
"I'm sure that's it. I mean, it really is . . .we've both been fully clothed and everything," Sherlock said.

John flushed lightly but nodded. "Like I said, that is completely normal," he repeated. He tried to imagine Sherlock watching porn and somehow it didn’t seem right. "Do you watch porn or anything?"

Sherlock pulled a face. "No," he said. "No, I'm not into . . . it's never been like that . . . it's hard to explain."

John nodded. "I know it's not for everyone," he smiled softly. He knew it.

"I just mean, it's not about sex really . . . it's just about the feelings, I guess," Sherlock mumbled. "Well, whatever . . ." He turned his focus back to the television. 

John nodded again, facing the telly as well. So just his feelings about John were enough to get him off? John didn't know exactly what that meant, but it made him a bit happy. "Like I said, it's a normal thing to do . . ." 

"Well, stop going on about it," Sherlock said. "I wasn't worried really. I just thought I'd mention it . . . I like the thrill of solving a case and recently you've been there as well so . . . that's all it is." He stood up. "I'm going to make another cup of tea."

"Okay, Christ. I was just saying it's all fine," John mumbled. He turned up the telly as a sign of not speaking anymore.

Sherlock returned with two cups of tea. "Sorry," he said quietly, before sitting back down and returning to the show.

"It's fine," John said, taking the tea. "It is." 

They sat quietly through the next few episodes. Then Sherlock looked over and said, "I think I'll go read in my room until I go to sleep." He stood up, stretched, and then took the mugs to the kitchen to wash then out.  
  
"Okay. I'm just going to watch one more before I go up," John said.

Sherlock went to the bathroom and then his bedroom, getting into bed and pulling out his book. After a while, he could tell the television had been turned off so he knew John had gone to bed. He set his book down and turned off his light.


	3. John Gets Involved

As he stared up at the ceiling, he wondered if he shouldn't have mentioned the masturbation thing to John. John obviously approached the whole thing in a very different manner. And Sherlock hadn't been worried, just surprised by it. Well, it didn't matter now -- he'd said it and now it was done.

Except that when he rolled over, he realised he kind of felt like doing it again right now. He decided not to. He decided he'd use tonight as proof that he was stronger than any physical urge he might get. But despite this resolution, he kept thinking about solved cases and about John, and those thoughts weren't helping.

He reached over and picked up his phone. 

_You asleep yet? SH_

John had only just lay down when his phone buzzed on the bedside table.  He picked it up and smiled. 

_I'm awake. -JW_

_Were the daleks in the one you watched? SH_

_Nope. But the oods were. -JW_

_If you get too afraid, let me know. SH_

_Are you scared? -JW  
_

_No. Just having trouble getting to sleep. SH_

_You know what to do. :) -JW_

Hmmm. . . this wasn't actually helping to rid Sherlock of his urge.

_I'll think of something else so you needn't worry. SH_

_I told you I didn't mind. -JW_

Sherlock wondered if John were being honest, but he presumed John wouldn't say something that wasn't true. He let one hand drift to his cock, which he started to slowly stroke.

_Just out of curiosity, were you planning to as well? SH_

_Would you feel better about it if I said I was? -JW_

_I feel fine. Don't project things onto me. Stop being a control freak, John Watson. SH_

Sherlock thought about it, though, and realised that for some reason, he did quite like the idea of John doing it as well. He closed his eyes and imagined it as he continued to stroke himself.

_You're the one that keeps talking about it. Are you trying to dance around the fact that you're not scared but horny? -JW_

John grinned and imagined Sherlock in his room, sprawled out on the bed and touching himself. His smile faltered a bit as a spike of heat went through him. Oh.

_Horny implies wanting sex. That's not the issue. SH_

_Horny implies needing sexual release whether it's your hand or another person. You're aroused. -JW_

_Another person is unnecessary. I'll accept aroused. SH_

_Okay good. Now we're getting somewhere. Why is another person unnecessary? -JW_

_Because it's not about sex. It's about remembering the feeling of solving a case, which I apparently find arousing. SH_

_Hmm. You said you thought about me. Me solving cases? -JW_

_It's only about solving cases. You just happened to be there. SH_

Sherlock looked at the text, which wasn't quite true, but he hit Send anyway. He set the phone down and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on what his hand was doing. 

_You're the one that admitted it - were you lying? -J_

The phone vibrated on Sherlock's lap, which he found quite pleasing. He picked it up and looked at the text.

_All I admitted is that you were in the scenes I was thinking about. SH_

That one was true. And now Sherlock found himself picturing scenes with John again -- this time they were on the sofa together, just sitting watching the television. Why was he thinking about that while his hand was doing what it was doing?

_Was I trying to find clues in my pants? I seem to have lost all of my clothes. -JW_

John didn't know why he was doing this -- egging him on like this -- but he found it enjoyable.

_If your teasing is trying to get a rise out of me, it's too late. I've already risen._

Sherlock laughed to himself at his little joke but then deleted it. Perhaps the focus should be less on Sherlock's masturbation.

_Are you looking at porn then? SH_

_No. I am just thinking about what I want you to be thinking about. Shall I lose my pants as well? -JW_

_Your clothes are on in my thoughts. SH_

It wasn't until he sent it that Sherlock realised it was as good as admitting he was thinking of John. But he was. He was thinking of John sitting on the sofa, watching Doctor Who, and that thought seemed to be doing the trick for whatever reason.

_Okay. My clothes are on. And where are we? Crime scene, the lab, or at home? -JW_

_Home. SH_  
  
Sherlock wasn't sure why he was going along with this, but he liked the feelings it was causing. He sat up and pulled off his shirt. He set the phone on his chest and then rubbed one hand over his chest as his other hand moved steadily. He separated his legs a little and took a few deep breaths.

_On the sofa? I bet you'd lay right across it. I never get the sofa - but I want it too so I think I'll just squeeze right next to you. -JW  
_

All of Sherlock's movements stopped when he read that. It felt like John was seeing into his mind, and it made him feel a little nervous.

_Stop trying to make it sexual. I don't think it's about that. SH_

_Nothing sexual about it. We're just sharing the sofa like we did earlier. Only we're closer now. Touching. -JW_

_Maybe. Keep going. SH_

_Well, I don't want to fall off so I'm going to scoot very close. And I'll tuck into your chest and neck a bit so you can still see. -JW_

He left it there, wondering if Sherlock was imagining smelling his hair, or wrapping his arm around John's middle so he wouldn't fall. John was -- he imagined Sherlock's breath ruffling his hair lightly. It made him smile.

_That's cuddling, John. Cuddling has nothing to do with solving cases. SH_

But it was too late. Sherlock was imagining cuddling John, and he liked the thought. He could feel tension grow in his belly.

_Right. I've lost my trousers again. Let's solve that. -JW_

_Your trousers are on your body, John. Stop being silly. SH_

They were on, in Sherlock's head. He and John were just lying next to each other and Sherlock was resting his hand on John's hip. That was all he needed. He pushed the phone off his chest and moved his hand fast and hard and then he came. He stopped breathing for a second and pulled his eyelids apart to stare at the ceiling once again. He reached over for a tissue to clean himself up. Then he lay back down, picked up the phone, and waited for John's reply.

_Fine. I'm wearing my trousers. You solved it! -JW_

_Relief then. And you? I don't imagine 'cuddling on sofa while wearing trousers' is one of your usual porn searches. SH_

_No, but I wasn't the one painfully aroused. Does that mean you've finished then? -JW_

He was slightly aroused, of course, but Sherlock was correct in thinking some cuddling on the sofa is not what he usually thought about when wanking.

_Does that mean you haven't started yet? SH_

_I didn't plan on starting. -JW_

_Seems a bit unfair really. But it is your right. See you in the morning. SH_

Sherlock rolled over and tried to understand precisely what had just occurred. He couldn't.

_Glad I could help. Good night. -JW_

John put his phone down and shifted a bit to get more comfortable, ignoring the slight bulge in his pants. Sherlock liked to think about him when masturbating. And not even sexually. Just being there. He smiled and closed his eyes, thinking about that as he drifted off to sleep.

Eventually Sherlock fell asleep and when he awoke, he heard John in the kitchen. Worried he had slept late again, he looked at the clock and saw that he had not. John was up early; perhaps he was going into work today. Sherlock didn't thought about what happened last night until the second he stepped through his bedroom door, but now it was too late to decide on a strategy. He tried to act as normally as possible. "Good morning," he said, moving to the kettle. 

When John got up in the morning, he remembered the night before and realised he didn't know how to act now. Should he mention it or pretend it didn't happen? When he saw Sherlock suddenly he realised he'd have to wing it. "Good morning," he said simply. For now at least.

"You off to work then?" Sherlock asked. He poured a cup and took a sip of the too-hot tea.

"Yes," John nodded. "And I might be going out with the boys again -- of course, you are welcome to come with us."

"I don't think so," Sherlock said. John's being 'out with the boys' made Sherlock feel a little excluded but certainly not enough to sacrifice his whole evening hanging around the pub. "You coming home in between then or should I sort my own dinner?" he asked.

"I can come home first. Going later has a better crowd anyways." John looked over at him. "Do you want anything specific?"

"I don't think I'll want anything at all, so we can eat whatever you want," Sherlock said. He stood up and moved to his desk.

"You brought up dinner -- now you don't want anything?" John asked, watching him go to his desk.

"I'm trying to be responsible . . . just like you taught me," he said, now starting to focus on his laptop. "Why are you trying to start an argument before you leave for work? I'm sorry you have to go but don't take it out on me. Say something sweet before you do."

John's mouth fell open in surprise at his accusation. He wasn't the one being so backwards! John got up for his coat and moved to the door, fighting back a grin now. "I think you would look lovely if you lost your trousers." He left before Sherlock could say anything, bolting down the stairs and heading off to work. 

Sherlock looked up quickly, but John was gone. That was an odd thing for John to have said. He presumed John was just trying to embarrass Sherlock, but he decided he wouldn't let it. Masturbation was a normal thing to do, it was even normal that he had thought about the person he spends all his time with -- John had pretty much said these things himself. So Sherlock would not be embarrassed. He went back to work at his laptop.


	4. Not Working

John was expecting some kind of text for what he'd said but nothing came by the time he got to work. He thought about what he had said and why he felt the need to. He had been teasing, of course, but he could have said anything.  Had they made a silent agreement not to speak of it and John broke it? Had Sherlock not answered because he was angry? No, Sherlock didn't get hung up on things like that. Did he? But if they didn't joke about it, or talk about it, it would seem like something shameful. And it wasn't.  Feeling a bit better about it he started seeing his patients.

Around lunch time, Sherlock realised he'd had yet to move from his chair so he decided to get up and make himself some tea. He picked up his phone.

_I've just had a lie down and can now confirm: you look lovely that way as well. SH_

He smiled to himself. If John wanted to tease . . . well, two could play at that game.

When John's phone went off he admitted to feeling a bit relieved. As soon as he got the chance he opened it, grinning stupidly.

_That's what I was trying to tell you last night but you kept dressing me. -JW_

_I found both versions equally satisfying. I'm not picky, it appears. SH  
_

_Hmm. Perhaps you should have a good think about which you prefer.  -JW_

What was going on? Sherlock wondered to himself. Were they flirting with each other or just teasing? He wasn't sure.

_Leave me alone now and let me work. SH_

_PS Keep your trousers on at the surgery. SH_

_I'll think about it. -JW_

John smiled as he put his phone away. If they are properly dating, he'd lock his door and take a trouser-less picture. But they weren't and that would be inappropriate.

Despite Sherlock's not understanding why that little exchange had just occurred, there was one thing that it definitely meant: Sherlock felt like wanking again. He went into his room, took off his pajamas and slipped into bed. He already had a semi, and he started stroking himself. He thought of the things he'd thought of before. It all felt good, but it was different. He felt . . . alone. Just thinking about John didn't seem enough now when John, at least via text, had kind of become a participant. He lay there for quite some time before realising this wasn't going to work. He got up and took a shower instead.

When John took his lunch he pulled out his phone again.

_I couldn't keep them on. -JW_

Sherlock was worried about this teasing now. He knew it was just fun for John, but it was disrupting his apparently new hobby, and that hobby was already confusing enough to him.

_What are you bringing in for dinner? SH_

John felt himself deflate a bit at the lack of response to his text.

_Thai? We haven't had that in a while. -JW_

_Sounds good. See you soon. SH_

_Okay. See you. -JW_

After lunch John called patients in more quickly, eager to get out and get back home. Sherlock's dismissal of his last massage made him feel bad. Maybe he had gone too far. He called in their dinner as he left, picking it up on the way. Once he got into the flat he called out for Sherlock.

Sherlock had gone back to lying down, but hadn't even bothered trying to masturbate. He just wanted to rest his body and his brain. He heard John call for him so he stood up, straightened his clothes, and went out into the sitting room.

John smiled when he saw him, moving to the kitchen. "I'm sorry about my messages before," he said a bit awkwardly, not really having an excuse for them. He went back to getting their food out, leaving it at that. 

"It's fine . . . I just didn't understand it, I guess . . . it made me . . . confused," Sherlock admitted. This, he did feel a bit embarrassed by.

"Confused? I didn't mean to. I just thought were still playing like last night." John slid Sherlock's plate to him before putting the rest away in the fridge.

"Okay, that's fine," Sherlock said. He took a few bites of food. "I think maybe I'll stop . . . I mean, the whole business, not just the playing. I don't think I'll do it anymore." He looked down at his plate.

"Why not?" John asked, looking over at him. "I won't bother you about it again. I'm sorry."

"It's just . . ." Sherlock wasn't sure if he should say, but John knew more about all this and had just promised not to tease again. "It doesn't seem to be working anymore." 

"What's not working anymore? You can't get aroused anymore?" John flushed asking the question, mixing his food around. "Maybe it's the things you're thinking about?"

"The . . . aroused part is all right," Sherlock said. He could feel his face redden. "But then . . . that's about it. I'm thinking about the same things as before -- I mean, solving the cases, like I said, but . . ."

"That's not working anymore?" John prompted.

"It appears not to be," he said.

"Well . . . it's also normal to need more than cuddling," John said carefully. 

"There's been no cuddling, John," Sherlock lied. "Just case solving. And don't bother saying there's anything more arousing than case solving because there's not."


	5. John Gets Really Involved

"Well, I have some time before I go so why don't you let me try something?" John asked, looking up at him again.

Sherlock looked up quickly. "What are you talking about? What do you mean? I don't --" he trailed off. He didn't even know what to say no to because he had no idea what John was suggesting.

"I'll just talk," John said quickly. "I'll just talk and you touch."

Sherlock stared at his food. "What kind of talk? Porn talk? I don't think that will help . . ."

"Why don't we do an experiment and just see?" John asked.

Sherlock thought. An experiment was not a bad idea. "All right, let's give it a go, I guess," he said.

Sherlock got up and went into his bedroom. He pulled the blinds shut and turned off the light before getting into the bed under the covers. "I don't want you to see me," Sherlock said quietly. "I think it'll put me off." He couldn't quite believe he was going along with this, but his curiosity was piqued.

"I'll sit in the chair here and close my eyes, okay?" John was used to this sort of thing from the army -- there were only so many things you could think of on your own and without porn, eventually it stopped working. Others started to get involved and it was always like this: always done in the dark and then never mentioned again in the day time. He peeked out at Sherlock and never thought he would be doing this again, let alone for a flatmate. "Who do you want in it? Should I make up a stranger?"

"Just . . . is this going to be sex then? I don't . . . just say ‘he’ then. I don't need details on him."

"Okay. Imagine you're at Bart's and you're working in the lab. You're hunched over the microscope and your back is starting to get sore - but you're almost done so you keep at it. Suddenly a man walks in and notices how tense you look. He comes over and starts to rub your shoulders. He has strong hands and it feels good."

John left out the fact that he was imagining himself in the story--telling Sherlock a scenario that he'd thought about several times before. 

"I don't know if this is going to work, John," Sherlock whispered. "I'm sorry -- it's too difficult. If a man I didn't know came up to me to rub my shoulders, that would not be a good feeling for me. I'm sorry."

"Pretend it's me," John said without thinking.

Sherlock opened his trousers and slipped his hand inside his pants. He closed his eyes and pictured the scene John had described. "Go on," he said quietly.

"I'm rubbing your back and I can feel you relaxing under my hands. And I notice . . . well . . . you look sexy, Sherlock -- very sexy in your element. So I lean in and press my lips to your ear." John paused and lowered his voice, whispering now. "I want to fuck you Sherlock . . . right over the table."

"John," Sherlock said, surprised. But he didn't say anything else. He imagined what John was saying and started slowly moving his hand over his cock.

John licked his lips, unable to help opening his eyes. He liked the small, surprised tone because it was real -- Sherlock would be surprised if that ever happened in real life. "I slide my hand down your stomach and open your trousers, pushing my hand into your pants. I stroke you slowly, lifting you to your feet so I can bend you over the table. I'm rutting against you, getting hard and ready."

"Don't hurt me, John," Sherlock said before he knew what he was saying. He was stroking himself harder now and could almost feel the story as if it were real and he was a little nervous, but he didn't stop his hand or John's story.

"I won't," John murmured, considering going over to stroke his hair or something. That might be crossing the line. "I'm going to make my fingers very wet and when I open you up it's going to be slow and easy. Are you ready for my fingers?"

"Yes," Sherlock whispered. He spread his legs a little under the covers. He wished he wasn't under them now, because his body was getting hot and sweaty. He imagined being bent over and John standing behind him. "I'm ready."

"It's slow . . . I just push my finger into your body, moving in and out to open you up. And then a second one, but you want it. It feels good. I'm going to lower my pants now-you can feel me against your thigh. Now a third finger, still slow, gently opening . . . " John's voice was soft now and he was struggling to keep breathing normally. He didn’t want to let on that he was becoming affected as well, but he was counting on Sherlock being too distracted to properly deduce right now. 

"This is sex, John," Sherlock said. He didn't say stop and he didn't want John to stop. But he felt like he wanted to acknowledge what John was talking about. He could feel heat in his stomach. He quickly pushed down his trousers and kicked them off under the covers before going back to stroking himself hard.

John bit his lip. "I can stop whenever you want," he murmured. But after pausing for a moment Sherlock only kicked off his clothes so John continued. "I pull my fingers out and line myself up . . . you look so gorgeous . . . but I go slow, gently pushing into your body. You're hot and tight and it feels amazing Sherlock. I start moving slowly."

"It's just a story," Sherlock said, his voice almost a moan. His muscles started to tense. "It's working, John," he called and then it was over and his body lifted a little off the bed and he was panting softly. And then suddenly he was out of the story and back in the room, so grateful it was dark and he was covered up. "Um . . . thanks," he said awkwardly. "It seems to have worked." He didn't move at all, his hand still holding his wet cock.

John shamelessly watched Sherlock writhe slightly, biting his lip at the sounds he made. After a few minutes John stood and nodded. "Sure, any time," he murmured, making his way for the door. "Just let me know if you need me again -- I don't mind helping." He left Sherlock's room and went to get his coat. He stuck his head into the hallway and called out, "If you don't need anything else I am going -- I'll be home later." He waited for an answer, glanced at Sherlock's door and then left to meet Mike at the pub again. What he had done with Sherlock was in the back of his mind, but he'd done it for others before so he simply left it there. 


	6. Over The Line

Sherlock stayed in bed for a while after John left, thinking about what had happened. It was unusual, that was sure, but John seemed all right with it. He kind of wished he had just never started masturbating again; perhaps everything would be easier if he just stopped doing it for a while. Maybe he had been right -- it was a useless distraction. But, he thought, it did feel good, and there was something quite nice about sharing it with John. Something else to add to his list of things he liked sharing with John. Eventually he got up, took a shower, and made a cup of tea before sitting down at his desk. If only he'd get a case, he'd have something else to think about. Yet there were no new clients, nothing from Lestrade, whom Sherlock just remembered, would probably be out with John tonight. He hoped John wasn't planning on sharing what had happened between the two of them with anyone else. He went to get his phone.

_Don't tell. SH_

John was into his third pint when the message came. Did Sherlock really think he would? John shook his head as if Sherlock could see him.

_Of course not. -JW_

_Obliged. SH_

Sherlock dropped his phone and went to retrieve his book. He lay on the sofa and started reading. Eventually he realised that, although he was seeing the words with his eyes, none of them were going into his head, so he stood up, got some water, and went into his bedroom. However, he wasn't in his bed long before he felt wide awake again, thinking about what had gone there a few hours ago.

At the pub they continued drinking and talking, and Greg and Mike were trying to set John up with passing girls. His mind, however, was still drifting back to Sherlock and what they had done earlier. Giving a lame excuse John left early, heading back to the flat. He was tipsy, feeling light and happy, hoping that when he got back Sherlock was going to be horny again. He stumbled a bit into the flat. "Sherlock?"

"In here," Sherlock called. He glanced at the clock and realised it must seem odd that he was in bed so early. He listened carefully to try to tell if John had brought anyone back with him, but he didn't hear chatter.

John smiled and made his way over to Sherlock's room, going in without knocking. Instead of the chair he sat on the side of the bed. "I'm home." 

Sherlock sat up sharply, surprised by John's invasion of his space. "I see that," he said, pulling the blanket up a bit around him. "I've not been doing anything," he said, awkwardly, quickly realising it was a defensive -- and completely unnecessary -- comment. He turned the conversation back to John. "Are you drunk then?" 

"Not exactly. Just a little. I thought I could tell you a story again," he smiled.  He moved and lay down over the covers, grinning over at him.

"Why?" Sherlock said. "Why do you want to help me with this?"

"Because I'm your friend -- that's what friends do."

"Do they?" Sherlock said.

"Sure they do," John said.

"I see," Sherlock said. "And you -- are you going to do it this time as well? To 'help' me?"

John nodded. "If you want me to, sure."

"Are you going to tell another story?" Sherlock slid back down a bit to lie flat on his back on the bed.

"Sure. This time we'll be at home. On the sofa again . . . "

Sherlock didn't actually feel like doing it again, but he was kind of intrigued by John's mood tonight. So he put his hand under the covers, just resting it on his lap. "Go on," he said, closing his eyes.

"Let's go back to that night I squeezed on the sofa with you, with your breath on my neck."

Sherlock imagined it in his head. It seemed nice. "Okay. What next?"

"You're whining about being bored so I'm going to turn around, and now I'm going to be pressed against your front. My face is in your neck and it smells so good that I start to kiss and lick it softly." John was palming himself gently.

Sherlock resisted the desire to put his hand to his own neck, to feel warmth there like John was describing. He had only planned on listening, but now he could feel his cock begin to ache. He moved his hand down, letting his fingers fall around it as it grew. "What do I do?" he whispered.

"You make the softest sound of surprise -- it makes me smile. I nip and suck harder, lacing my hand into your hair." He was whispering like Sherlock was.

"Like this?" Sherlock asked, making a soft hum. His fingers were wrapped around himself now, gripping slightly. "Is that the kind of noise you're talking about?"

"Yes," John breathed. He palmed harder, moving his hand into his trousers now.  "My hips are rolling against you lightly -- I can't help it . . . "

"Are you doing it now, John?" Sherlock whispered, turning a little bit towards him.

"Kind of," John admitted. "We're going to shift on the sofa so I can get on top of you. I'm going to keep kissing your neck, down to your chest now."

Sherlock thought about it and started to slowly stroke his cock.

John pushed his hand into his pants now and was properly stroking himself, picturing the scene. "I'm going to suck on your nipples before licking and kissing lower . . . and lower . . . tugging your pajamas out of my way. My mouth has more interesting places to discover . . . " 

Sherlock wondered if John had ever done something like this in real life . . . but it didn't matter. The John he was picturing in his head knew precisely what he was doing, knew just what Sherlock liked and was doing all those things. The speed of his hand's movement picked up a bit.

"I'm going to put my mouth around your cock, Sherlock, and I am going to move very slowly up and down. Teasing, I know, but I can't help it -- I love the sounds you're making," he continued, imagining rolling over and doing that now. His hand gripped harder as he moved faster. 

Sherlock made a little noise as his hand moved even faster. He turned himself flat on his back again, pulling his legs a little bit apart. He wished he had taken off his pajamas, but he was too close now. He squeezed shut his eyes and lost himself in John's story. 

"I know, Sherlock," John said in response to Sherlock's noises, "I'll do it proper now -- swallow you down and bob around you, moaning so you can feel the vibrations of my throat as it takes you in." John's hand was moving very fast now and, after pushing his trousers and pants further down, he pulled his legs up a bit like Sherlock had. 

"I -," Sherlock couldn't say anymore before he came into his hand, panting even heavier than when this happened earlier. Something about knowing, hearing, feeling John's own movements made this even more intense. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. He didn't know if John would keep going or what.

"Don't . . . be . . . " John managed before he came himself, leaving the story behind to focus on the real sounds Sherlock made beside him. That's what actually pushed him over in the end. His hand slowed and finally stopped, cleaning himself up a bit with his own shirt. He lay his legs flat again and sighed happily. "It was good," he assured Sherlock.  

"Okay," Sherlock mumbled, not really know how else to respond. He lay there listening to John breathe and thinking about what had just happened. "John?" he asked, his voice not even a whisper now.

"Hmm?" John murmured, closing his eyes. He wondered if it would be okay to sleep there.

"I wish we could kiss," Sherlock said as quietly as humanly possible.

John's eyes opened and fixed on the ceiling. "The-the story is over . . . " he said as quietly as Sherlock had. Did he mean in real life? Suddenly the meaning of all of this seemed like . . . more. He slowly started pulling up his trousers again. He shouldn’t have joined Sherlock like this. The rule had always been only one person getting off at a time.

"I didn't mean . . ." Sherlock started but then knew he should stop. He knew something was wrong -- that he'd ruined this. He turned over on his side away from John.

John swallowed hard and sat up, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "But we can throw that in next time, yeah?" He stood, very slowly making his way to the door.

"Sure," Sherlock mumbled, turning away from the door now. He heard it click shut as John left. He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling once again. This little game was over now. He hadn't understood why it'd started and why he'd done any of the things he'd done. But it was over now. He got out of bed, took off his pajamas and wiped his belly before putting on a clear pair. He got back into bed and closed his eyes, trying to think of nothing until he fell asleep.


	7. Done And Over With

John shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, debating going back inside. But then he heard movement and he hurried away before he was caught, leaning on his own door when he closed it. _I didn't mean --_ Didn't mean what? In the story? Had Sherlock wanted to kiss him in real life? The idea had been slow coming into John's head and now that it had finally arrived, he cursed himself for leaving so quickly. He would have kissed Sherlock gladly -- the sudden thought made him pull his door open again but he stopped himself from leaving the room. It was done now. He had already ruined it. 

Maybe he could explain to Sherlock that touching was okay -- some men did that in the army as well. A different hand, sometimes their mouths . . . not really talked about but that seemed too harsh to do with Sherlock. Once again, he wasn’t ashamed of it. Just confused now. But if they did start that, where would they draw the line? If they started touching each other, and then they started kissing each other, how long until they were having sex? Could they keep something like that casual? _Would you want to?_

John swallowed hard and sank onto his bed. No, he wouldn't. Talking with Sherlock like this was different than doing it in the army -- this felt different somehow. He took his clothes off and climbed into bed. Maybe it was best that they stopped this now. It didn't seem like either of them could really handle it. He drifted off into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning all night. 

Sherlock woke a few times in the night. Each time he did, it took a few minutes for him to remember what had happened and he just wished he could have done everything differently. When it was finally time to get up, he wasn't quite sure how to face John. He knew neither of them could pretend that it hadn't happened, but he didn't want to talk about it. He just wanted it all to be over. He finally got up, went to the bathroom and then came out into the kitchen as he was wrapping his dressing gown around himself.

John was up before the sun but didn't fancy sitting in the sitting room so early. He had snuck down for some water and his laptop, sitting up in bed and working on the last case. When he finally heard movement he was almost done so he stayed in his room anyways, but he was distracted now as he wondered how he would face Sherlock. Would they talk about it? Ignore it? He was hoping for ignoring it for the mere fact that he didn't want Sherlock to be hurt or embarrassed.

When he posted the final case, he had no reason to stay in his room. Leaving the laptop behind he put on pajamas and headed downstairs, stopping in the bathroom first before finally making his way to the kitchen. "Good morning," he said, trying to sound normal. 

"Morning," Sherlock said. He poured them each a cup of tea and handed one to John. "I don't think we should talk about it. It's all fine. It just went too far . . . but I want it to all be fine now. Over with. Done. Okay?"

John opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then he opened it and let out a small sigh. "Okay. Done," he agreed. He wasn't going to force Sherlock to talk about it even though he wanted to know why Sherlock had said what he said. But the answer could make things worse, and he really didn't want that. "I'm going to get some aspirin for my head -- I'm sorry about the way I came home." He got up and went to the bathroom again for the medicine before coming back to take it with his tea. 

Sherlock checked his email and then got his book and returned to his desk, but then got back up and moved to the sofa. He lay down and started to read.

John waited a bit before moving into the sitting room with him, sitting in his chair and checking the blog. He was answering back some comments when his phone rang. He got up to get it, speaking with Sarah for a few minutes before hanging up and coming back. "I have to work later -- just a few hours. There's a lot of leftovers, I hope that's okay for tonight."

"Sure, whatever," Sherlock said, waving his hand dismissively. He looked over at John. "Sorry," he said. "That's fine -- I'll figure out something to eat. Will you be going out afterwards?"

John shook his head. "No. My head is still a bit . . . off . . . and I think Mike works in the morning tomorrow." 

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Could you bring milk in -- no, forget it, I'll go get some." He looked back at his book. "I hope your head feels better soon."

John looked over at him but didn't say anything, going back to the blog. When he finished answering he went to have a proper shower, going up to his room to change. It wasn't incredibly awkward, but it felt different still. He hoped with some time things would slowly get back to how they were before. When he came down, he reminded Sherlock he was leaving and then took off, walking since it was nice enough out. 


	8. Sherlock Spots The Difference

Sherlock read for a little while longer. Then he got up and took a shower. Obviously as soon as he was naked, he began thinking about last night. Why did he have to push things too far? Why did he have to take advantage of John? All John was doing was trying to help Sherlock feel more normal about something that was normal anyway. He looked up into the shower head and let the hot water hit his face.

Hold on a minute. John wasn't just helping him last night. John was masturbating as well. In fact, John was the one who initiated things last night. Sherlock hadn't even been in the mood to do it. Last night was John's idea. Sherlock had been so obsessed with his own behaviour that he hadn't stopped to think about what was going on with John's motivation.

At work, John found seeing patients a lovely distraction, and for a few hours he forgot what had been going on at home. But then he did think about it. He wondered if Sherlock was touching himself at the moment -- if he was going to go back to doing it without John's help now. The thought made him a bit sad, but he couldn't blame Sherlock. Things had become a bit blurred, and he didn't want to mess up what they already had. 

After Sherlock got out of the shower, he went to his desk and set a clean paper in front of him. He started writing down everything that had happened between John and him. Then he read it over a few times. Then he realised something: John liked being a part of Sherlock's sex life. Sherlock wasn't entirely sure at this point if it meant that John actually wanted to have sex with Sherlock, but this was not just about helping Sherlock feel okay about masturbating. Maybe it had been at the beginning, but it was so much more than that now. To Sherlock, yes, but he was sure it was to John as well. He would find out tonight.

When it was finally time to go home, John stopped to pick up milk, doubting that Sherlock actually remembered to do it. He walked from the shop back to the flat, hoping things might be a bit better this time. "I'm home," he said, moving into the kitchen. After putting the milk away, he heated up the Chinese and leaned on the counter to eat it. 

Sherlock had moved back to the sofa and had drifted to sleep so John's coming in startled him for a moment. "How was work?" he asked, standing up and stretching. He went into the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine. He set one in front of John and took a sip from the other. He grabbed a fork and ate a little bit off John's plate. "Your hangover gone?"  
  
John watched him set the wine glass down and then watched him eating casually off of his plate. He was so . . . calm now. "Um . . . yeah, I feel better now. Work was fine -- a bit busy for an afternoon." He put his fork down to take a sip of wine before going back to his meal. 

"Thanks for bringing in the milk . . . I got busy," Sherlock said. "Well, I was napping. Are you going straight to bed? Do you want to watch some telly?"

"No, it's too early for bed. We can watch some telly," he nodded. He continued eating against the counter, finishing it off before taking another sip. "Let me wash this up and I'll be right in."

Sherlock picked up both wine glasses and carried them into the sitting room. He set them down on the table and then flopped onto the sofa. He picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels.

When John finished he came into the sitting room, pausing in the doorway. He couldn't see the telly from his chair, but Sherlock was laying down. He moved into the room and patted his legs. "Make room," he said. 

"Sorry," Sherlock said. He stood up and moved to turn off the lamp. "Glare," he explained. He lay back down on the sofa, bending his knees so his feet were flat and inches away from John's thigh. "Just a nature documentary," he said, turning his head to look at the television. "It's the best I could do. Unless you want to find something else." He balanced the remote on one of his knees to offer it to John.

"No, this is fine," John said, settling back a bit more comfortably. 

Sherlock moved the remote to the table, took another sip of wine and lay back down again. He watched the television and silently noted each time John lifted his glass to take a drink. After a while he said, "So here we are. On the sofa. Just like in your story." He didn't turn or even move -- it was like he just threw the words out into the air.

John cleared his throat lightly and then took a bigger swallow of wine. "Yes, just like the story," he said, keeping his eyes on the telly. What was he playing at bringing that up now? Did he decide he wanted to talk about everything after all?

"I wonder if I could tell you a story tonight. It's a story about the Army. It's not a long story, John. Do you mind if I tell it to you? Do you want me to wait until the show has finished?"

"I . . . what kind of story? I don't think its a good idea for us to continue . . . you know. Like before . . . " Had Sherlock missed the fact that everything had become a bit . . . heavy last night? Had John overreacted?

"It's not that kind of story, John," Sherlock said. "It's more of a factual story. Can I go on?"

John licked his lips and drained his glass. "Sure," he nodded, still watching the telly. 

"As I'm sure you know, in the Army men develop bonds they might not develop in other circumstances. There's an intimacy . . . they share secrets, you know, fears, experiences . . . fantasies. They might even end up in slightly sexual circumstances. Like maybe one would describe a porn film he'd seen or another would describe something he'd done. And if his descriptions were good enough, it might even lead to masturbation on the listener's part. I mean, you were in the Army . . . you must know that things like that could happen."

John's jaw tensed lightly. Was Sherlock making fun of him? He didn't say anything to this -- surely Sherlock already knew it was true, that John had been involved in things like that. He swirled what was left of his wine and gulped it down, staring at the empty glass. 

"I've not been in the Army, of course, but I imagine the best storytellers were quite popular chaps. I mean, I'm sure some of them must have photographic memories and could be quite vivid in their descriptions to make it seem so . . . exciting to the other men. Or maybe they just spent a lot of time thinking about their stories, visualising them, replaying them over and over. It's just quite interesting to me -- I've never been in a situation like that before. It's just . . . interesting." He paused for a moment. "You know what they _don't_ do, though, John?"

John took a long, deep breath. "What don't they do, Sherlock?"

"They don't tell stories about fucking each other," Sherlock said. "Unless, of course, that's actually what they want to do."


	9. Sherlock Takes Action

John flushed darkly and swallowed hard. "You said – you said you didn't like that stranger and I just wanted to help," he explained quietly. He had never even considered that he had messed it up -- that he'd gone too far, long before the kiss was mentioned. Why hadn't Sherlock said anything before?

"Stop talking, John," Sherlock said. "Your talking has caused this little . . . issue we're having. I think you would do well to think for a few minutes before you decide to talk again." He paused and shifted his legs a little so they were partly on John's lap. "You don't look comfortable though. Perhaps you'd like to lie down and think. We could probably make room here . . . on the sofa."

John looked down at his feet and then over at Sherlock who was now lying down against the back of the sofa. He had made room for John to lie in front of him, just like in the story. John hesitated. If Sherlock was making fun of him, this was going to lead to disaster. But if he wanted the same thing . . . that small risk was enough to make him shift and lie down in front of Sherlock, facing the telly still. 

Sherlock rested one of his hands lightly on John's hip. "Can you feel my breath on your neck, John?" His hand gripped John a little more tightly. "Would you listen to me just a little longer before you say anything else? Let me tell you my story of the sofa. We stay like this with my breath on your neck. I close my eyes and I think of what happened in my room last night. I think of the words you said, the pictures you described, and it starts to make me hard. I don't tell you, but you know. You can feel me pressing against you. You know that it's you who's done this to me, you who made me want those feelings. You can feel my breath change slightly, it's a little heavier on your neck. You're trying to concentrate on the television but it's difficult, knowing what's going on behind you, what's pressing up against your body. It's difficult for me as well because I want something I haven't wanted in a long time. Something we've never done together." Sherlock slid his hand from John's hip to rest on John's belt buckle.

John nodded his reply, not trusting his voice to speak just yet. He was glad Sherlock had asked him to keep being quiet while he spoke. Now John's breathing was changing, becoming ragged and heavier. By the end of the little story, he was pushing back against Sherlock. "And . . . what exactly is it you want, Sherlock?" he asked softly, covering Sherlock's hand to help him undo his belt. 

"For us to get up from this sofa and go into my bedroom," Sherlock said calmly. 

John stopped trying to open his belt and nodded. "Okay." He moved to stand up, taking the glasses to the sink and then turning off the telly. He followed Sherlock into his room, climbing up onto the bed and facing him. "Is this where we're going to kiss?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Sherlock said, having followed him in. He rested one hand on John's hip and leaned in to him, kissing his mouth softly first. He held the kiss, parting his lips slightly as he pressed into it before pulling back and resting his head on his pillow.

John opened his eyes the second the kiss was over, immediately finding Sherlock's eyes. "That was . . . better than I imagined," he smiled softly. "Are we . . . we're not telling stories tonight, right?" He wanted to properly touch, kiss -- everything. 

"I don't think a story will be necessary," Sherlock said. He kissed John's mouth again and then moved down to kiss and suck at the skin on John's neck. "You can talk if you want, though. That's up to you."

"No . . . I want to do," he murmured. He carded his fingers into Sherlock's hair and moaned softly. He pressed his body against Sherlock's, trying to get on top of him.

"John," Sherlock said. Because it was John. Now he understood why it was always John in his head. Yes, the cases were part of it, but John was part of the cases. Everything in Sherlock's life John was a part of now. He wrapped his arms around John and squeezed him.

John climbed up on him and rutted his hips, kissing Sherlock harder. His hands moved to get Sherlock's shirt off, pushing it up and breaking the kiss only long enough to get it off. And then he moved down, kissing his neck and chest. 

Sherlock exhaled hard. "You too," he said. "I want to feel your skin." He pulled at John's clothes. He reached down and undid his own trousers and kicked them off.

John pulled his own shirt off, kissing Sherlock and arching so their chests were touching. Then he continued, licking and sucking his nipples. "You're so gorgeous," he breathed.

"Shh," Sherlock said. "Don't say things like that." He tipped his head up to look at John kissing him. John's skin against his felt hot and suddenly Sherlock's whole body felt warm. He reached a hand down to John's shoulder and rested it there.

"But it's true," John smiled, moving lower and lower.  He nipped at Sherlock's hip as he dipped down, licking a slow stripe up his shaft. "Did you imagine this when I told you about it?" he asked quietly, sucking Sherlock into his mouth.

Sherlock let out a small gasp at the feel of John's mouth. "Yes," Sherlock said. "Just like that." He closed his eyes and remembered John's story which was a hundred times sexier now that was also actually happening. 

John moved slowly like he had in the story, staring up at Sherlock. 

"Slow like that, John," Sherlock moaned softly, sinking back against the bed. He wanted this soft feeling to last as long as it could. He knew what was going to happen -- and he wanted what was going to happen -- but he wanted to memorise this slow build before it got lost to other feelings.

John kept his movement steady, using his hands to keep exploring Sherlock's thighs, hips, and even dipping down to tug at his balls. 

"It's . . . so good," Sherlock moaned again. "I never want you to stop." But he could feel the heat starting to rise in his body, so then he said, "But you might need to . . . at least for a few minutes." He reached down for John. "Come up here and kiss me for a second, please."

John pulled off and kissed his way back up Sherlock's body, finding his mouth with a smile. He straddled him again, rutting his own erection against Sherlock's belly while he kissed him.  

"Slow down, John," Sherlock said. "We have all the time in the world. My recent masturbatory habits have turned me into an orgasm expert, you know," he added, smiling. "I want us to both worry we'll drop dead with desire before we get to the end, okay?" He kissed his face.

John grinned. "I'm afraid that's where I am now," he said. He dropped onto Sherlock, burying his face into his neck and making a dying sound for dramatic effect. 

"Fine," Sherlock said, playfully shoving him away. "We'll have to stop then, I guess. If you can't handle it . . . it's a shame really because I was really hoping to get my mouth on you."

John opened his eyes and put his hands together pleadingly. "It's a miracle -- I've been cured!"

"All right," Sherlock said, rolling over and looking at John's lovely face. He lifted a hand to his cheek. "Listen to me, you must tell me when you're too close, okay? This is going to be the most exquisite torture either of us have ever experienced, but the pay off, I promise, will be worth it. Promise, okay?" He started to slowly move down John's body -- kissing from his neck down his chest to his navel.

John huffed out a breath and nodded. "I will. I promise."

Sherlock moved even lower and rubbed his face against John's hard cock. He felt the wetness on his cheek and inhaled the smell of sex. He dragged his mouth across it then licked it up and down before sliding it between his lips. He sucked the tip lightly and then quickly swallowed down, taking in as much as he could.

"Fucking hell," John called, lacing his fingers into Sherlock's hair. He moved to look down at Sherlock, biting his lip at the lovely sight. "That's so good, Sherlock."

Sherlock kept with the same movement, though he dropped one hand to pull gently on John's balls before lifting it to his chest and rubbing and squeezing his nipples. He shifted his own legs slightly so he could press his hard cock against John's thigh.

"I-Sherlock, I'm close," John breathed, writhing lightly beneath him. He wanted more but he didn't want it to end. 

Sherlock continued for one more minute and then quickly pulled off and away from John. He shifted his body so he was sitting next to John. "Look at my face for moment and breathe deeply," he said, smiling. He reached for one of John's hands and lowered it to his own cock. "Help me with this while you calm down a little."

John started to stroke him slowly, gazing at his face with a wide smile. "You still look gorgeous," he murmured as he caught his breath a bit. 

"Shush now, I don't like that talk," Sherlock said, lightly running his fingertips over John's chest. He dipped his head slightly, focusing away from John's eyes. "If you have to say something, tell me this night will end with your fucking me."

"This night will end with me fucking you. Because you're gorgeous." John grinned.

"Less talk," Sherlock said, "more hand job, please. No wait . . ." he leaned over awkwardly to reach his bedside drawer. He pulled out a bottle of lube and then dribbled some over his cock. "Now, harder and a little faster," he said, smiling. He went back to stroking John's chest. 

John followed his instruction, still gazing at his face. "You have lovely eyes . . . and a beautiful smile . . . and a handsome face." With every compliment he gripped harder and moved faster.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked down. "Please, John, I don't want to hear those things," he said honestly. He closed his eyes again and concentrated on John's hand. His own hand moved to John's opposite hip which he held tightly. 

John's smile fell a bit but he nodded. "Okay," he said. He looked down to Sherlock's cock and focused on his stroking.

"God," Sherlock moaned quietly. He dropped his head back a little and gripped John's hip even more. "Keep going . . . tighter . . ." he said. "I'm close -- when I say stop, go for ten more seconds and then stop everything . . . right to the edge, John, then stop, okay?" He could feel his hips move slightly against John's rhythm.

John nodded. As he gripped tighter he rolled onto his side and kissed Sherlock's thighs.

"Oh God . . . fuck, John," Sherlock said, reaching down and holding John's hair in his hand. "It's so good . . . it's . . . you have to stop. Stop, John . . ." he called, his voice rough through his rough breath.

John continued for ten more seconds, ten quick kisses, and then he rolled away, stopping everything.

Sherlock crumpled against the bed, panting heavily. "Fucking hell, that was painful . . . but good." He turned so he was lying next to John again. "Touch yourself," he whispered. "I want to watch you."

John leaned over and kissed him before he started stroking himself. "Tell me things, lovely things." He smiled.

"I can't believe how incredibly fascinated I am by your body, John," Sherlock whispered, his breathing more under control. He lifted a hand to John's chest again. "I don't know how I'll ever be able to concentrate around you again -- knowing what's under your clothes will distract me too much." He rested his hand on John's for a moment, letting it move with John's movement, before reaching for the lube and pouring some over his palm and fingers. Sherlock then lightly pulled on John's balls and rubbed his inner thighs. "I like all of your body, but this region is particularly enticing." 

John gripped harder and moaned when Sherlock touched him. "I'll never be able to think of anything again. Christ, I love your hands . . ."

"Don't come, John," Sherlock said, his voice changing slightly. "Tell me stop when you get too close. You have to stop, too. You promised." He kept rubbing between John's legs, slicking the whole area. "Spread your legs for me," he said softly.

John spread his legs and nodded. "I will, I promise," he moaned softly. 

"Don't stop yourself from enjoying it -- don't stop yourself until right before," Sherlock whispered. He let his fingers go further between John's legs, brushing them over his hole. "I want to touch you in here. Will you let me?" he asked.

"I'll come," John moaned. "I'm too close already."

"Stop your hand, John," Sherlock said. "I want to do this. Please . . ." His voice was soft and a little bit pathetic. He waited until John moved his hand away and then said, "Relax your body, John. Close your eyes and press your head against the pillow. Tell me when you feel under control."

John pulled his hand away reluctantly, laying it on the bed beside himself. He didn't close his eyes, instead looking at Sherlock as he took his breaths to calm himself. It was agony -- the sweetest kind of agony, waiting for release. He nodded, taking easier breaths. "I'm okay," he said. 

"It won't be long, John, I promise," Sherlock said. He pressed one fingertip inside John and then slowly moved his slick finger in deeper. "God," he said softly, shifting to press himself against John. "God," he said again, because just doing this was almost driving him insane. "Does it feel good? I want it to. I want to make you feel so good." He moved his finger a little deeper and then pulled it back before pushing it in again slowly.

John gasped softly when he felt Sherlock's finger move into his body, especially when he moved it deeper. He nodded. "It's good," he moaned softly. He kept his eyes on Sherlock, watching his face. The movement -- it was hardly anything and yet it was so very much -- was driving him crazy. "God, Sherlock, please," he begged.

"Hold on, John, please," Sherlock said. "Put your hand on me. Focus on that." He waited until he felt John's hand, worried that he was going to explode himself, but he tried to listen to his own instructions. "A few more minutes and then I'm going to lie back on the bed, you're going to get a condom out of that drawer and then you're going to fuck me until we both come. Just one more minute." He curled his finger a little, letting it brush quickly past John's prostate. "I want this so much, John," he whispered, leaning in to kiss John's skin.

John arched up when Sherlock touched his prostate, whimpering loudly. "Please . . . Sherlock, please." He opened his eyes and met Sherlock's. This all felt incredible and he wanted to explore it, but the things Sherlock was saying -- he wanted those too and it was all too much. He squeezed his eyes shut and took long, slow breaths, trying to calm down again. "I'm okay . . . it feels so good."  

"I'm so ready for you, John," Sherlock said, still moving his finger slowly. "I'll only need your fingers for a minute and then I'll want you inside, pushing inside. I won't last long -- I hope you'll forgive me but I just want you so much." He could feel it all becoming too much. "God, John, please . . ." he slipped his finger from John's body and pulled away from his hand. He moved quickly to lie flat on his back, reaching down to hold but not stroke himself. "Now . . . please."

John was immediately over Sherlock, kissing his mouth hard. It was sloppy and passionate, and while it was happening, his hand was pouring lube and opening Sherlock, one finger at a time pushing into his body. He stretched for the condom, moving his two fingers apart to open him as he rolled it on. "I don't want to hurt you but . . . fuck Sherlock, tell me you're ready, please."

"I'm ready, John," Sherlock huffed. "Please . . ." He started a slow stroke with the hand on his cock and with his other hand, he reached up and gripped John's hip, trying to rock him.

John pulled his hand out and lined up, pushing into Sherlock's body. "Fucking hell, Sherlock . . . God!" It was hot and tight and he could hardly keep himself together. He was panting, needing to get some movement before it was over, needing to feeling what it was like moving into his body. Slowly he started, pulling half way out and thrusting back in. 

The word yes escaped from Sherlock's mouth and he squeezed shut his eyes, sending all his focus to the physical pleasure. John's movement into him, his own movement on his cock. He wanted this to last as long as possible, but he would also no longer hold back. His orgasm was already building and the heat was taking over his whole body. 

John started moving faster -- pulling out farther and pushing deeper. Every movement pulled a grunt or a moan from his mouth. Heat coiled in his belly and the muscles tightened as he tried to hold on just a bit more.

Sherlock's hand moved faster. "John, I'm going to come," he said. He tried to wait, tried to breathe, but he couldn't and moments later, his body arched up off the bed and he felt his cock jerk and spray over his hand and their bellies. "God, John, yes," he moaned over and over. 

John felt Sherlock squeezing around him, catching his moaning mouth into a kiss before coming himself. He pushed into Sherlock, his head falling backwards as he called out his name. 

Sherlock lay there for a moment, trying to catch his breath and unscramble his mind. John dropped down against him, and Sherlock put an arm around him as he too tried to calm himself. Eventually Sherlock said, "John, I know a story about two flatmates, two friends, who change their relationship and will need to talk about that change. But they wait to talk . . . for now, they just stay like this. It was so good . . . they just stay in that moment until they go to sleep. They can talk tomorrow. Is that story okay with you?" His voice was a whisper.

John shifted to pull out of him before relaxing on top of him again. "Yes, that sounds perfect," he murmured. He closed his eyes, sighing heavily. 

"It _was_ good," Sherlock said quietly. "Better than anything." He stroked John's back softly. 

John nodded again, already half asleep. "It was fantastic, Sherlock."

Sherlock closed his eyes and listened to John's breathing and then his own. He didn't think about tomorrow, he didn't think about what this all meant. He just went to sleep, happy with John's body against his.

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, John had moved to his side but was still sleeping peacefully. Sherlock curled around him and drifted off again.


	10. The Next Morning

When John woke up it took him a moment to realise where he was. He smiled wide and dipped down to kiss Sherlock's hands, pressing against him.

Sherlock opened his eyes at the movement. "Do you regret it?" he asked immediately, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't want you to . . . if you do it's all right. You've just got to tell me."

John shook his head. "No, I don't regret it. I miss it." He smiled and kissed Sherlock's hand again. "I don't regret it."

"I don't regret it either," Sherlock said softly. He squeezed him. "It's morning, I think."

"I think it is, too. Your bed is much more comfortable than mine. I think I will continue to stay here," he smiled. 

"Hmmm. . . we'll see about that," Sherlock said. "Are we getting out of bed at some point, do you think?"  
  
"Do we have to?" John smiled wider and turned in his arms to face him. "This is very cozy and I am not ready to give it up just yet." 

"That's fine," Sherlock said. "Are you sure you're not ashamed of anything that happened last night?"

John nodded. "I'm sure," he smiled. "Are you?"

"I rarely do things I'm ashamed of, you should know that," Sherlock said. "But I'm wondering now if you'll be unable to look at me with the same awe and respect you had previously," he added, pulling a face and then smiling.

"I won't lie to you -- I'm going to be pleasantly distracted now," he grinned.

"Well, I'm still expecting you to treat me with the same level of respect and admiration as always," he said. He stretched a little on the bed. "Were you thinking about doing anything . . . you know, like last night . . . except now, this morning?"

John grinned. "I thought about it. You see, I woke up in a bit of an awkward state and I was hoping you would say something like that." He took Sherlock's hand and brought it to the slight bulge under the sheet. 

Sherlock pressed his hand against John. "Is this how you wake up every morning?"

"Sometimes, but this is the first time I've been happy about it," he smiled. "Are you . . . do you feel the same?"

Sherlock looked down and smiled. He said, "Why don't you see if you could make mine like yours?" He moved his hand over John's cock through the sheet.

John slipped his hand under the sheet and stroked him slowly, trying to get him hard as well. He moved his eyes to look up at his face, smiling wider. But this time he said nothing.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a minute and a picture of John and him standing outside the college back on that first case flashed in his mind. He opened his eyes. "John, I just thought of a case . . . does that mean something's wrong? Shouldn't I be thinking more about the things we did last night?"

"Not wrong, exactly. Whatever it was, it's working," he smiled. "Want to tell me about it?"

Sherlock closed his eyes again. "It's just . . . it's just that I like when you're there. With me," he said. He pressed his hand more against John, curling his fingers around him, still through the sheet.

John hummed softly. "I like when I'm there too . . . I love working with you. Watching you work." He felt Sherlock's fingers grip more, but he kept his hand slow and easy. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "I don't want you to stop." He swallowed. "Working with me, I mean. . . and living here. And all of it . . ."

"Nothing could ever make me," he smiled.

Sherlock scooted closer to John and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his face into John's neck. He wanted to say something but wasn't sure what it was so he didn't say anything, but just held John.

John leaned up to kiss his neck lightly. "I think I'm in love with you," he murmured against Sherlock's skin. His hand still moved steady and slow.

"We'll see, John," Sherlock said softly. "It's what I feel as well but . . . let's just wait and see, okay?"

John nodded, kissing his neck again. He was so soft and handsome, and he wished he could say these things. He wished Sherlock believed him.

Sherlock stayed wrapped around John, but pressed his hips a bit against him. "Mmm," he said. He started rock his hips a little. "Feels good . . ."  
  
"It does feel good." He liked the slow, calmness of this compared to what they had done the night before. It was all so fantastic.

Sherlock moved his face against John's ear and whispered, "I want to do everything right by you, John. Not just this kind of stuff . . . everything. And I'm worried I won't know how."

John brought his free hand up to Sherlock's hair, petting softly. "We're going to figure it out together, okay?" he said. 

Sherlock nodded. He liked John's hand in his hair. He pressed a kiss against his neck and smiled. They would figure everything out. They always did.


End file.
